


Leonard H. McCoy's Guide to Keeping a Friend

by facelesshellion



Series: Guides, Tips and Tricks, and Quick Definitions [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Bones POV, Gen, Male Friendship, Slow Build, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facelesshellion/pseuds/facelesshellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard came to Starfleet with nothing except a half-finished degree and an empty bottle of cheap booze. It took him months to realize he had a best friend waiting in the wings for him to get his act together. </p><p>Or: How Leonard made a best friend by being an unobservant but decent person and how his conscience wouldn't let him be undeserving of the kid's freak affection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Leonard Becomes Bones

**Author's Note:**

> So, in my opinion, there's a lot of fic about Jim being an awful patient when he gets hurt or sick. And I'd like to explore what it'd be like if Jim was an overly obedient patient and how Bones would deal with this bizarre part of Jim's personality (because that doesn't fit with Jim's cocky attitude at all, this quiet and deferential obedience to the doctor) and what causes it. Starts at the academy, might get to post-movie eventually depending on where I decide to end it. Let me know what you guys think! Hope you enjoy.

Seeing as Leonard's first impression of Jim Kirk consisted of a battered face, a strong scent of musty booze, and more than a bit of secondhand anxiousness due to the aviophobe next to him, Leonard expected the worst when he was assigned his roommate. He spent the first quarter waiting for Kirk to come in and vomit on his shoes.

(He ignored the fact that he had been blatantly shit-faced when they first met.)

His clinic work took up any social time he would have had otherwise and he already experienced the entirety of university life. Kirk defied expectations by not complaining about the lights being on at 0300 when Leonard needed to study but stayed at the clinic longer than he should have. 

Leonard preferred Kirk to any roommate he roomed with before. This included his ex-wife, even before the marriage fell apart. They shared responsibilities, including grocery shopping when the mess’s replicated meat started tasting like metal. Their accidentally-occasionally shared dinners had enough sarcasm to make the meal go down smoothly and not induce nostalgia from past family suppers. 

(He stopped being startled by Jim getting back before midnight. He started pondering their combined reclusiveness.) 

By the start of the second quarter, he and (“Stop calling me Kirk, we’re living together for god’s sake-“) Jim had a decent understanding, both of each other and their hectic schedules. 

Leonard finally understood the unspoken rules of Starfleet Medical, forcing his stress to decrease exponentially. Jim finally learned his limits and how many classes he could handle before he collapsed.

Jim’s side of the dorm was Jim’s and Leonard’s side of the dorm was Leonard’s and he who drank the last of the orange juice would be he who ran to the store before the other returned even if the clock read 0200. 

Most of the time, when he was in the dorm, so was Jim. They bantered, and sometimes it was enough to keep Leonard from remembering why he was in Starfleet in the first place. 

(Times like that were the ones that made Leonard grateful for Jim Kirk’s birth. Jim always knew when Leonard would linger in bed, unable to get up and face another day, and he would do something wonderfully obnoxious to force Leonard to feel something other than the grayness peeking out of the corners of his thoughts.) 

They kept their interactions from becoming too sentimental. Jim didn't ask about the divorce or the folded sonogram pictures in his desk with big black X’s through them and Leonard didn't ask why Jim kept a duffle bag packed to the brim with nonperishables near the window. 

It was both a surprise and not when he got an automated call halfway through his basic xenolinguistics course asking Jim Kirk's primary emergency contact to report to the clinic. 

(Part of Leonard wondered how Jim had gotten into a bar fight in the middle of the day. The other part scolded him for the immediate nasty assumption and reminded him that it was thoughtless comments and an inability to forget the past that helped rip his marriage apart.) 

He shuffled out of the class and tried to avoid the professor's notice. 

Having a good idea of Jim’s personality, he prepared to see an empty room and an exasperated nurse. The nurse would most likely say something along the lines of, “He checked himself out against suggestions and we couldn’t keep him.” 

Jim seemed like he would be a difficult patient. His independence bordered on stubborn idiocy at the best of times. Leonard dealt with countless cadets that had the same temperament daily. 

Starfleet attracted the brave, the talented, and, coincidentally, the idiots. 

However, against the odds, Jim was on top of a biobed and swinging his legs off the edge, waiting with a bandage wrapped around his head and a small osteo-regenerator over his left hand when Leonard arrived. A nurse sat in the chair next to the bed, tapping on her PADD silently. 

(Leonard had always known that Jim was barely out of the cradle. Seeing him, injured, quiet, and kicking his legs like a toddler made that hit home a lot harder than usual.) 

"So where's the other guy?" 

Jim startled. "Uh, nowhere? I sorta just fell. Kinda embarrassing." 

"Where'd you fall? You alright?" 

"Concussion, and I fell on my wrist so that messed it up a bit, but fine. There's probably a bloodstain on the stairs to the mess that I'll see every time I go there now." 

He clapped a hand on the kid's shoulder before addressing the nurse. "How much longer will he need the regenerator, Johnson? Any issues?” 

"He should be just about done Doctor McCoy. You'll need to stop by the pharmacy before you take him home." 

Leonard frowned. "Why would he need painkillers if the osteo-regenerator did its job and he was properly medicated?" 

"We don't need to stop, I'm fine-" 

"No, that's not the issue here Jimmy. The issue is that you shouldn't be feeling any pain whatsoever if this was done correctly-" 

"Doctor McCoy, we couldn't give him any hypos," Johnson interrupted quickly. "He's allergic to almost all of the ones we have in stock. The only ones we could conceivably give him would knock him out anywhere from a day to a week, and he refused." 

He glanced down at Jim's reddening face. "You mean to tell me that he sat through that with no medication? None whatsoever?" 

"It's not that bad when it's smaller bones," Jim interjected. "I'm used to it anyways. I was an active kid." 

Leonard rubbed a hand over his face. After a long, silent moment, he said, "I'll run by the pharmacy and get the prescription while you finish. Then we'll get back home. What do you want to eat?" 

"What?" 

"What do you want to eat?" He reiterated slowly. "I bet you were on your way to the mess and fell down the stairs since you didn’t sleep at all last night, right? So you didn't eat, which means the last thing you ate was breakfast this morning at 7 and it's around 1800 now. So what do you want? I'll grab something from the store if we don't have anything home that you want." 

(He tried not to take Jim's bewildered look too personally. It reminded him of his ex-wife’s distrust.)

"Uh, there's leftovers from Wednesday that I'll have. Don't worry about me." 

"You sure? This is a one-time kind of offer, I don't cook often." 

"Yeah. I’m fine. I’ve gotten paper cuts worse than this." 

"Give me about ten minutes, I think Darla's at the pharmacy today and she's slow. Bless her, she's kind folk, but she takes her time. We’ll head home after that and settle you in for some shut-eye. Bet you haven’t gotten more than four hours in the past week, you over-achieving moron." 

(Jocelyn always said he rambled when he got caught off guard. He knew rambling was the best choice here. The other option was wrapping Jim up in bubble wrap so he never had to see a regenerator again.) 

Fifteen minutes later, he returned, armed with a dubiously attained medical file of one James T. Kirk on a data chip in his pocket (Knowing that he would never give Jim something he's allergic to settled his nerves, both as a physician and his roommate) and a bag of the only medication that would not give Jim hives. 

Jim was still swinging his legs back and forth and still looking younger than ever. 

(Leonard tried not to let his heart ache too horribly with “what-if’s” the act dredged up.) 

Johnson unhooked Jim from the osteo-regenerator and gave him the standard spiel of basic care instructions.

"You know the drill for concussions, doctor, so I'll keep that part of the speech to myself, yeah?" She handed him the PADD to sign Jim out. 

He gifted her with a bland look. “Johnson, I had that speech memorized before you were out of high school. If I can't handle a concussion patient by now then I'm in the wrong profession." 

Tension prevailed on the walk to the dorms. Jim avoided his gaze, shoulders hunched low. Every couple of steps he would stumble, and Leonard would grasp his elbow and stop to keep him upright. After the first mumbled, "Thanks," they resumed their silence. 

"You said you wanted the leftovers from Wednesday? Go ahead and sit down before you crack your head open again. What do you want to drink? We have orange juice and water, but I can replicate something if you want." 

Jim shuffled inside. He looked bewildered again."Uh, yeah, water's fine." 

"You need to stay awake and eat something before you can have medicine and your head will regret it if you fall asleep before doing that. Put on a movie or something, keep yourself occupied-" 

"Okay." 

"And not something boring like those chick flicks I know you watch when you think I'm asleep-" 

He sputtered, "That was only once-" 

"It was five times, and you were crying during all of them you softie-" 

"Screw you Bones, they were classics!" He finally laughed, throwing his jacket in Leonard's direction before going for the remote. "You just can't handle my impeccable taste in entertainment." 

"I'm sorry, 'impeccable'? My ex-wife had better taste in movies than you and she forced me to sit through The Notebook 3." 

"You're shitting me," Jim snorted, eyes light with mirth. "I can’t believe you didn’t melt the screen through sheer force of your glare.” 

Leonard threw a plate of spaghetti into the microwave while Jim flicked through channels. The mechanical whirr and muffled voices kept the earlier tension from returning. 

He picked at a spot on the counter to keep his hands away from fiddling with the data chip burning a hole in his pocket. 

(Crunchy and black; maybe from the grilled chicken they had last week. Since Jim did most of the cooking, Leonard should have offered to clean up afterwards. Mostly because Jim did a horrible job cleaning anything that involved using water. Their plates were white when they first arrived.) 

He fell back onto the couch next to Jim, shoving the plate, fork, and glass into his lap. When the kid fiddled with the fork, looking between the fork and him, Leonard rolled his eyes. "Quit staring at it and eat up. It’s not going to bite and I didn't slave over the microwave for you to let it go cold.” 

"Ah yes, your labor is greatly appreciated Bones." 

(Up until he met Jim, Leonard had never seen someone as lean as the kid put away so much food in so little time. Impressive, if not a bit worrying that he might one day chomp off a finger or two in his haste.) 

The D-list actor screeched on screen seconds after Jim licked his plate clean. Leonard pushed him back to his seat and took his dish and utensil back to the kitchen. 

He muttered on the way back, shoving two dark red pills at his roommate. "So old-fashioned, I can't believe we have yet to make cheaper disposable hypos for the public-"

"Hey, I'm not complaining, hypos suck and I always get a bruise the size of a watermelon from them."

"You've had shitty hypo-dispensers then, that's not normal. Come to me next time you need one- Jesus, I bet you had a lifetime of mediocre health professionals, what're Iowa's hospitals even like-?”

"Lighten up Bones! Contrary to popular belief Iowa is not all corn and cows."

Soon after another glass of water, a trip to the bathroom, a change into pajamas, and plenty of sarcasm, he shoved him into bed, setting an alarm on his own PADD as he said, “I’m going to be waking you up every once in awhile because of the concussion. Make sure to tell me immediately if the pain is worse or not going away or if anything feels abnormal. Yell if you need me at any time, alright? No macho bullshit or I'll keep you up for the next week instead of letting you sleep." 

Jim nodded, instantly burrowing into his covers until he was cocooned completely. His face peeked out and, after twisting oddly for a moment, broke into a tiny smile. (Barely more than a quirk at the side of his lips, and his eyes flitted to the floor momentarily before meeting Leonard’s.) "Thanks Bones. For all of this. You're a really awesome friend." 

(After remembering to breathe, after scrubbing at his face to feign exhaustion and hide his widening eyes, after he realized his heart was still beating, perhaps realizing for the first time since he walked out of Georgia with nothing but heartache, a grimace, and cheap liquor that his heart was still beating and he was alive and just maybe he could still be useful to someone other than a faceless organization, he gripped Jim’s ankle and squeezed it a little too tightly.)

Leonard replied, "Any time, Jimmy. Now sleep, you need all the rest you can get if you want that genius noggin of yours to heal up." He patted his ankle one last time. 

He shut the bedroom door behind him and collapsed back onto the couch. 

"'A really awesome friend,'" He muttered. "Somehow, Leo, you've succeeded in doing less than nothing and earned a friend through it. Jesus fucking Christ." 

He spent the rest of the night and most of the morning scanning and quizzing himself on Jim's medical file in between checking on the kid. 

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"It's too early for math Bones shhhhh-"

"Focus, Jimmy, you can go back to sleep in a minute. Let me see those baby blues of yours, that's it, now tell me the date, where you are, and something else so I know you're not any more brain damaged than usual."

"Har har har, you're hilarious..." 

(He debated for an hour about the ethics of using his status to get a friend’s private medical file. This was the sort of thing Jocelyn hated, the overbearing protective streak.) 

"Jim. Jim. Jimmy boy, wakey wakey." 

"Didn't you just come in here like two minutes ago?" 

"Come on, you know the drill by now." 

"I just want to sleep-" 

"I know, I know, we'll make it quick." 

(He reminded himself that Jim was not Jocelyn and opened the file.) 

"Name all fifty states and their capitals, kid." 

"Oh fuck you, I bet you can't do it." 

"You want the current ones or the original versions?" 

"Bullshit. I call bullshit." 

(James Tiberius Kirk, born January 4, 2233 on the USS Kelvin)

"I didn't even fall asleep from the last time you came in Bones." 

"Hey, would you rather I let you keep sleeping on your recently broken wrist? Here's water and pills, take 'em and you can go back to sleep." 

(Allergies: strawberries, most nuts, Penicillin, NSAIDs, Novocain-) 

"Have you been sleeping at all? Your eyes are red. I'll be fine for a few hours, I can stay up-" 

"Relax kid. I'm working on my xenolinguistics essay anyway, it's due Monday and I'm supposed to have a call with my lawyer this weekend. Better to have all of this shit done with before that so I don't remember that I didn't do it halfway through the call. Go back to sleep."

“Good night Bones.” 

(Evidence of repeated breakage in the following areas-) 

“Night Jimmy.” 

(Evidence of malnutrition in prepubescent and pubescent years due to-)

(Classified) 

(Classified) 

(Classified) 

(Classified) 

* * * * * * * 

By the time their second semester was over and the campus buzzed with talk of the summer break, Bones and Jim were inseparable. 

After Jim’s concussion abated, Bones dragged Jim out of the library (If the rest of the academy knew how much time Jim spent in the library, they would retract every accusation of favoritism) and took him to lunch four out of the five workdays. Bones had expected a bit more resistance, but Jim eagerly shoved PADDs back into his bag each afternoon and latched onto Bones’ side. 

Contrary to his obvious excitement, it took a couple of stubborn weeks before Jim would stop acting overly obnoxious during lunch 

(Some days he almost turned around and out of the diner. Every single time, Jim's wobbling lackluster sneer glued him to his seat.) 

Those stubborn weeks where Bones would stare Jim down and drawl out retorts were thankless until one day Jim just smiled and started, hesitantly, to talk about the old warp core he saw earlier that day and uses of matter and antimatter. 

(Jim reminded him of a kindergartner, recounting what he learned that day and excitedly showing off his new knowledge as if to say, “Look, look at what I can remember look at how smart I can be watch me watch me watch me-“) 

Jim, in return, started searching Bones out more and more. 

Bones must have passed some bizarre test by that point because seeing each other during lunch and at the dorm turned into Jim being everywhere.  
He didn’t know how Jim had enough time to keep up with classes when his own days were filled with Jim visiting at the clinic and Jim bringing him breakfast if he had a night shift and Jim organizing Bones’ half of the room if it got too messy and Jim fielding calls from Jocelyn when he wasn’t available and Jim finding a lawyer that was twice as good as his last one at half the price and Jim doing his laundry and Jim placing a blanket around him when he collapsed onto the couch at 0300 after not sleeping for three days and Jim scampering away before Bones could acknowledge or thank him.

(Jim everywhere all the time and it was exactly the sort of silent understanding he had wanted with his marriage. When Leonard worked at the clinic to keep his turmoil far from Jocelyn and provided for anything she wanted, Jocelyn tried to understand and tried to help and neither worked with each other at all. Jim, on the other hand, made sure Bones never ran on empty, gave him someone to come home to and to care for and Bones provided a solid rock for Jim when he needed it, listened to his long-winded rants about quantum physics that could change topic at any moment even if he didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, and distracted Jim when he fixated and obsessed over something to the point of distress.) 

Bones only tried to say, “Thanks Jim, you know you don’t have to do all of this, right?” once before Jim’s betrayed look stitched his lips together and he scarfed every bit of the homemade breakfast Jim had rushed over at 0500 before the start of his second shift. He ruffled Jim’s hair and guided him out with an arm around his shoulders to erase the words from Jim’s mind. 

(He could never express how relieved he was when he arrived home and Jim babbled about the differences between Vulcan’s ancient language and its current, popular dialect per their new norm.) 

“What are you doing for summer break?” Jim’s question brought Bones back to reality. “You have plans?” 

Bones grimaced. “I have to go to Georgia to finalize some few things with Jocelyn. Mostly just sign some places and cross my t’s dot my I’s kind of thing. My grandma invited me to stay with her and spend some time with the local relatives so I’ll stop by there.” 

Jim stabbed a fork through his lettuce. “You said that last part the way I imagine you would say ‘diarrhea’ or ‘kidney stones’. Your family that bad?” 

“Not my entire family,” Bones corrected. “Most of them are fine. Annoying, yeah, but manageable. My mother and aunt, though..." He sighed. "Before I joined Starfleet, they wanted me dead for ‘letting such a fine woman like Jocelyn slip through my grubby fingers’, and now that I’ve joined?” He whistled lowly, shaking his head. “I’ll be lucky if they don’t pull the shotgun on me the second I step on the lawn.” 

“Ouch. That bad? What do they have against Starfleet? I would have thought that enlisting is a nice sort of profession for a Southern gentleman.” He was frowning deeply, seeming completely displeased.

(It took Bones the entire semester to understand that while Jim joked, a lot of his jokes displayed his actual thoughts clearly. One of Jim's favorites was the "southern gentleman" spiel. He definitely had a humbling effect.) 

“My grandpa on my mom's side died in space because of a faulty engine,” He explained, twirling his spoon around his fingers. “My mom became a Starfleet skeptic after that. Thinks they don’t spend money on the important things and give up too much in negotiations too often.” 

“And your aunt?” 

Wryly, he said, “Aunt Sam is probably working for the Pro-Terra movement. She’s as bigoted as she is stupid.” 

They ate in silence after that, Jim snatching Bones’ breadstick and Bones rolling his eyes fondly. 

He dropped his spoon into the empty soup bowl when he finished. 

“The shuttle for Georgia leaves on Wednesday, so you need to pack for a couple of weeks. We won’t be in Georgia the entire time but I was thinking we could travel a bit. Maybe even hit Disneyworld if you’re a real good boy for the trip.” He tossed a few credits on the table to cover his half before tapping Jim’s temple. “Shut your mouth or else you’ll start catching flies. And buy sunscreen when you go to the store tonight. I’m not rubbing aloe on your back if you get burned.” 

“What, you think I don’t have plans of my own?” Jim, indignant, slammed his own credits on the table. 

“Kid, I know you don’t have anything to do. You wouldn’t have asked without saying your own plans otherwise.” He snorted. “Like I said; Wednesday. You better have everything ready the night before or I’m dragging your ass on the goddamned deathtrap minus your duffle at four in the morning. Capiche?” 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before grimacing. “Fine, fine. I get the window seat though.” 

“What makes you think in any possible situation I would want the window seat? Have I ever come across as a window type of person? Have you conveniently forgotten about how we met?” 

Jim was laughing by the end of his rant. “Yeah yeah, I know. I bet you though that we can have you flying on your own by the end of our second year.” 

“The extent of your delusions never ceases to amaze me.” 

(That summer, Jim was there when Jocelyn McCoy officially and forever become Jocelyn Hart again with an entire rental car filled with booze and an empty field programmed into the GPS. Jim was there after the exhausting family dinner with sarcasm and banter that kept the apathy at bay. 

 

They did go to Disneyworld. Jim freaked when he met Tigger. Coincidentally, after their trip, a certain picture happened to be glued to the inside of Bones' wallet and used as the background for his personal PADD.)


	2. Summer Vacation and How to Fix Shitty Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are foreign colds, bloody fists, and short mentions of hippos and the future of the Avengers' franchise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two guys! Thanks to everyone who read this, more thanks to everyone who clicked on kudos, more more thanks to everyone who bookmarked this, and more more more thanks to the people who commented! Hope you all enjoy! This chapter's a bit of a transition one and I'm not thrilled with it, but I think it was needed. And I might be using a bit too much repetition, but hey, every story needs a trademark, amiright?

The summer before their second year was less of a break than Leonard expected. Their two-week sojourn, while necessary both to settle Bones’ marital status and for Jim’s mental health, barely counted as an intermission, let alone an entire holiday. 

Jim, with his ridiculous aspirations and by default his ridiculous schedule, disappeared into every class and demonstration he could get his hands on.

Bones, finally feeling the weight of past mistakes roll off of his shoulders, delved into every nook and cranny of the clinic that summer in order to do more academically during the school year. 

(Part of him felt that his passion was rekindled because he wasn’t looking over his shoulder for Jocelyn’s shadow. A smaller, more honest part of him knew that it was because he wanted to keep Jim safe and smiling that little smile he always gave Bones right before he went to sleep, and if finishing in three years instead of four kept him by Jim’s side, well, it didn’t hurt for Bones to pick up the pace a bit.) 

Inevitably, Bones had to cut their lunches short. 

“There’s some Andorians visiting and they came down with Declaxian flu,” Bones explained, closing his communicator and shoving it into his pocket. “It’s weird, they’re usually more-or-less immune to it, and there might be something wrong with their systems if they were able to catch it. Head chief-what’s-his-name is offering to let me take over if I get there first, I’ll catch you back home later.” He shoved a roll into his mouth and sprinted out. 

He tried not to do it too often, but up until then, Starfleet medical cases had been incredibly boring for everyone. However, that summer Starfleet decided to host a large diplomatic convention, increasing the amount of fascinating cases. Countless species ran around campus with colds and diseases Bones had never seen before. 

(Colds and diseases Jim might get some day on a starship out in the middle of nowhere. A pinch of prevention is worth it if he saves Jim from dying in the black.) 

Between a couple summer classes and his desire to be in the midst of the action, he was lucky to see Jim once a week. Not that not seeing him changed the regular packed meals left at his station or the little things at home that made it easier to get through the day. 

(As awful as it sounds, that’s probably why it took him ages to see how his disappearing act affected Jim. If those little daily brighteners hadn’t shown up, Bones would have known something was wrong. As it was, he assumed that if he had done anything to anger or upset Jim, he would go without a meal for a day before having to go back and grovel. Jocelyn had required monumental amounts of groveling before she would speak to him after he screwed up, which meant he had plenty of practice and was prepared to have to do the same sooner or later to stay in Jim’s good graces.) 

It took him days to realize he hadn’t seen Jim for lunch for at least three weeks. He had barely seen Jim at the dorm in those same weeks. Bones only stopped there to change clothes and sleep for three hours every other day. 

On Wednesday, Bones took the next Friday and Saturday off. 

(Jim never took classes on Fridays or Saturdays. Bones didn’t have any set plans for what they could do on those days, but he had an idea he’d run past Jim when he saw him next.) 

On Thursday night, around 2100 as his shift ended, he got a call from Jim’s academic advisor. 

“Jim was supposed to meet me an hour ago,” Bones noted the lack of a greeting. “He’s never late, Doctor McCoy. Have you seen him today?” 

He forced the words out. Past the lump in his throat, past his dry mouth, past the numb muscle behind his teeth, he said, “No, Captain Pike. I haven’t seen him for days. I’ve been at Starfleet medical almost nonstop. Not a lot of cadets stayed for the summer, much less any qualified ones.” 

The line stayed silent for almost thirty seconds. “I see. He didn’t go to speak to you on Tuesday?” 

“No sir.” 

“Not for anything?” 

“No sir.” 

“Did you see him on Tuesday at all?” 

He swallowed. “No sir.” 

“Cadet, I think you need to find your roommate. Now. If you cannot find him, contact me and I will file a missing persons report. Understood?” 

“Yes sir.” 

(He was running before Pike hung up. Mentally, he listed all of the places Jim could disappear to. Home, the library, the third class hall down the street from the bistro they visited on Wednesdays, possibly the bar downtown-)

After hearing Jim whimper in his sleep once, he thought he had seen Jim at his most vulnerable. Throat bared, eyes clenched, sheet fisted, and mouth pressed tight, Jim had looked sweaty and terrified. 

For a second, he breathed out in relief when he arrived home and he saw Jim on the couch. 

Then he saw the empty bottles piled neatly next to the table, the bruised knuckles brushing the carpet, the pile of blood oozing off of the stained cushion, the putrid garbage can smelling of old sick, and the dull blue eyes staring the scattered remains of one of their not-so-white dinner plates across the room. 

(He wanted to run over and crush Jim to his chest to never let go. He wanted to kick himself for not noticing his neglect and for falling too deep into work. He wanted his heart to stop hurting. He wanted Jim to stop looking so weak and broken, wanted to curl around Jim and never ever let him out of his sight or else there’d be Hell to pay, wanted, wanted, wanted-) 

“Jesus Christ,” Bones whistled lowly. “You’ve been busy. How many beers is that? Twelve?” 

A dark red trickle of blood dribbled out of his mouth. “Eighteen today.” 

“And you were just laying there to bleed out?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

He rummaged through the medkit he took from medical longer than was strictly necessary.

(Jim made Bones question details that he didn’t know if he wanted answered or not. What made him think lying on a couch bleeding and sick and hung over was preferable to being bleeding and sick and hung over at a hospital where he could get treated? What happened to him as a kid that made him covet his injuries unless someone explicitly told him to see a doctor? Why didn't he tell Bones when he was acting more like the Leonard he used to be and force him to pay attention to him? Why couldn’t he verbalize his needs when they were most important?) 

"I don't need you," Jim shoved him away from his face, scowling. "Seriously, get out." 

Bones rolled his neck around until it cracked. "You look like you got in a fight, kid. Just let me look you over." 

"Get out of my face and leave me alone." 

"Why?" 

"Don't you have some code red or blue or rainbow or whatever for medbay?" He grumbled, turning around so his face pressed into the back cushions. "Have to save some ambassador from a lethal cold? I don't fucking know. Something more important than this." 

"Nothing's more important to me than taking care of you, Jimmy." 

The back in front of him tightened. Jim curled up more.

"Don't say shit you don't mean." 

"I'm not." 

"I don't believe you." 

"That's fine." 

“Why should I believe you? You’ve been gone for weeks and haven’t even spoken to me when I’ve done everything for you.” 

“You shouldn’t. I’ve been awful and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t change my answer.” 

"Fuck off." 

"Nope." 

"Why?" 

"Why what?" 

"There's nothing in it for you. Saying that thing before, I mean. It's not like I'm going to swoon or something if you say I matter like a fucking southern belle." 

"Ah, damn. That's what I was aiming for. Maybe you’d look like a chick on a bodice-ripper novel." 

"I'm being serious!" He flipped back around, brilliant blue eyes glaring. "What do you want for this? You're not getting anything." 

"I was hoping for a Ferrari, but I’d take a beer if you haven’t drunk all of them." 

"Quit fucking around. What do you want?" 

Bones sighed. He put leaned back on his heels and shrugged. "I want you healthy and safe. That's all." 

"You're being a real bastard right now." 

“Is it really that hard to get? You’re my best friend and therefore, for my own emotional state, I want you healthy and safe. It’s pretty straightforward.” He put a hand on his shoulder when Jim tried to surge up. “Relax. I’m going to patch you up. That’s all. Okay? Let me do this.” 

He won the right to work when Jim slumped back and stopped resisting. 

(He wondered how much of the initial reluctance was because Jim actually didn’t want treatment and how much was Jim feeling like he should protest and how much was Jim unsure if he could trust Bones after Bones dropped him like a hot potato for weeks with no warning or reason.) 

Setting up his station, Bones ran a preliminary tricorder scan to start the clinical, professional part of the evening.

“Tricorder says you didn’t take anything, so that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about. I’m glad to see that you have enough self-control to say no to drugs. Really, it’s comforting.” He half-mocked. He released and sprayed disinfectant on every inch of injured skin he could find. 

“Shut up. Fuck, I’m too drunk to be getting a lecture.” 

“Don’t go get trashed unless you’re willing to deal with the consequences then!” Bones started wrapping Jim up in bandages, hands a little too tight and shaking a little too much. 

(Thank God everything was superficial. Evidently, Bones had already spent too much time at the hospital.) 

“What were you thinking?” He continued, cutting off the excess fabric when needed. “Were you drinking at a bar and then here alone? What if you had needed your stomach pumped? Are you that stupid?” 

Jim shrugged, obligingly moving when directed wordlessly. “There was a girl here for awhile. Sashsa or something. It was fine.” 

“No, it wasn’t. What brought this on?” 

“I felt like drinking. It’s almost been a year since I had a night to drink.” 

“Uh huh. Sure. So what’s the real problem?” 

“There is no problem.” 

“Bullshit.” Bones scanned Jim for the second time, then the third, before nodding. “You’ll be sore for a few days, but nothing too bad. Give me your hands, I’ll repair those knuckles.” 

He clipped the dermal regenerator to Jim’s hands. He covered any minute scrapes he missed. He scanned him a fourth time. He checked for serious head injuries. He scanned him for the fifth time. 

(He tried to make the tricorder tell him anything that would fill in the gaps of his knowledge about Jim. The readings continued being the same as the first one, but even so, it comforted Bones when he had physical proof of Jim’s life in front of him.) 

“Everything seems okay. You tell me if anything aches longer than it should or if you feel out of sorts after sobering up, alright? Like I said before, no macho bullshit.” 

Jim’s lips quirked, albeit reluctantly. “Right. No macho bullshit.” 

“Damn straight. There’s nothing worse than a snot-nosed brat thinking he doesn’t need to call his doctor when he gets into a stupid fight.” 

“I get it, I do. You’re mad at me, am I right?” Jim’s grin was cheeky. 

(Too cheeky to be honest, he noted carefully. Mentally, he traded in his standard-issued combat boots to get slippers for the upcoming landmines he’d have to avoid.) 

Bones kneeled next to the couch by Jim’s head. “A little bit, yeah. I don’t exactly enjoy coming home to you all banged up.” 

The grin faltered. “You always do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“You call this ‘home’. All the time,” He looked away from Bones and fiddled with a stray string dangling off of the tattered furniture. “Even way back when you took me back from the clinic you said, ‘Let’s get you home’ or something like that.” 

“I guess I do. That bother you?” 

“Yes- I mean, no, but sorta yes?” Jim tugged on the string a little harsher. “I just… You have your family all in Georgia and I always thought that would be your home. Not some dinky dorm room you share with me.” 

(Bones hated the way Jim said “me”. It was always with an inflection that implied he was saying something more like “dirt” or “filth” or “lesser” and he knew a perfect way to hide the body when he found out whoever started that habit for him.) 

“Family doesn’t make a home,” Bones slowly began. Haltingly, he made his way through the explanation. “I didn’t choose my family, you see. I see most of them once every year if we all try hard to make it happen. And I never had good relationships with any of them. 

“Home isn’t where family is. It’s… I don’t know, it’s just home, Jimmy. And this is home. This dinky little room with you is home. I try not to question it.” 

Jim snickered. “You’re such a sap.” 

(Jim’s laugh, hysterical and watery and disbelieving, made Bones’ little white lies not hurt so bad. Jim didn’t need to know that he had a tendency to call hotel rooms home when he was on vacation.) 

“You’re one to talk. I didn’t realize you were a maudlin drunk. Getting all huffy over me trying to help, upset that I was busy working… I would’ve brought tissues if I had known.” 

They stayed there almost longer than Bones’ knees could handle with Bones making Jim’s laugh turn more genuine through snark and exaggerated wit and Jim, drunk, giddy with Bones back near him, and finally relaxed in his presence, melting further into the couch. 

When Jim started teetering on the edge of sleep, Bones took a chance. Carefully, he asked, “Jimmy, why’d you get beat to hell like this?” 

He blinked, slow with booze and exhaustion. “You seemed like you didn’t want me around you and I didn’t know what to do. It’s too big without you here.” 

Bones’ knees creaked when he stood up. “I’m sorry Jimmy.” 

(His hand, acting independently of his conscious mind, weaved its fingers into the gold hair in front of him. Scratching lightly across Jim’s scalp made a pleased hum leave Jim’s throat that Bones wished was the default rather than the rare occasion.) 

“S’not your fault.” 

“Sort of is. I got caught up in the excitement and ignored you. Don’t let me do that again.” He left the couch for no more than ten seconds to grab the fluffy blue blanket they had both decided was needed for any movie night. Tossing it over Jim, Bones resumed his speech. “I’m not kidding, Jim. Tell me I’m being a bastard next time it happens. I’d rather you drag me out of a consultation then for you to go out and nearly get yourself killed. You need to tell me if you need something. Hell, if you want something let me know. I can’t guarantee I can do anything about it, but you need to tell me so I can try. That’s what friends are for, Jimmy.” 

(After the first time Jim fell asleep next to Bones and rolled up so tightly in the blanket he looked like he was losing circulation, Bones always remembered to tuck the edges of the blanket underneath Jim so he looked more like a burrito than a Starfleet cadet. Jocelyn had hated that Bones stole the covers, but he hadn’t been able to help it. With Jim completely tucked in, if they crashed on the couch, half on top of each other and half off the side, then it didn’t matter because they had their own blankets and Bones couldn’t steal Jim’s.) 

Jim didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Bones could have hung the moon right in front of him for how silently amazed Jim appeared. 

“And Jim?” 

“Yeah?” 

He paused, visibly figuring out how to word his question. “Why me?” 

(Out of all the kids on campus, out of all the citizens in San Francisco, out of all the people in this part of the galaxy, why stand around and bitch with and laugh with and live with Bones of all people? Bones, a bitterly cynical bastard that can’t help Jim with homework or provide completely for him or be a better friend for him, can’t be the best choice for a best friend.) 

Jim stared blankly. He pulled the blanket up past his head, engulfing every inch of his body. Speaking quietly, and further muffled by the blanket, Jim said, “Because you sat next to me on the shuttle and didn’t ask questions I didn’t want to answer and let me go if you did and because you never ask about why I’m so defensive of my half of the bedroom or why I never unpack or why I eat weird or why I don’t sleep a lot or why I don’t go for the engineering track when I’m good at it or why I can’t sleep unless I know you’ve eaten that day or any of the other things about me that would drive everyone else crazy if they had to deal with me.” 

(Jim didn’t reemerge and Bones didn’t expect him to. He didn’t know what his face looked like, but he didn’t think it would help Jim with whatever dilemma was playing out in his mind. Bones felt wildly unbalanced from being liked for not caring enough, for not noticing everything Jim said until he pointed it out, for not being what a friend should be, for not being empathetic enough, for being so oblivious-) 

“Night Jimmy.” He left with one last parting pet to Jim’s side. 

He cleaned up the living room as much as he could with a volume limit before moving into the bedroom where he could lock the door behind him. 

“Jim’s fine. He’s asleep now.” 

(Pleasantries were unnecessary when it was Jim’s well being at stake.) 

“I’m glad to hear that, Doctor McCoy. May I ask where he was when he decided to miss our meeting?” 

“I’m sure I’d have no idea, sir.” 

“Speculate then.” 

(Fucking higher-ups and their fucking nosiness and their fucking apathy-) 

“I’d rather not, Captain Pike.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“Do you really want to know, sir, or are you just stating a fact?” 

(If Pike really wanted to know, then he would have found Jim himself rather than call Bones.)

“Considering what time of year it is, I can only estimate the damage done to public property in the past few days.” 

“The time of year, sir?” 

“Oh, did I say that?” 

“You did. What is this about?” 

“Just a slip of the tongue, cadet. Don’t overthink it.” 

“Sir-“ 

“Forgive me, but it’s late and I don’t have time for a social call. Thank you for letting me know of Cadet Kirk’s safety.” 

“Sir.” 

(Slips of the tongue by anyone in Starfleet meant more than an honest answer ever would. Whether Bones would take the obviously placed bait or not remained unknown for countless moments over the next week. 

Then he remembered that Pike was the smooth talking bastard that convinced him to join Starfleet when he was drunk as a skunk and, as grateful as he was for joining and meeting Jim, joining Starfleet as a runaway newly-divorced drunk hadn’t been a good decision for anyone involved and Pike never should have encouraged that decision. 

Jim would tell him when he was ready. Or Bones would find him whenever “this time of year” hit a climax and try to make him talk about it.)

((Years later, he thanks the God he has never believed in for his lack of curiosity and his leftover guilt from reading his private files that kept him from prying into Jim’s life unnecessarily.)) 

* * * * * * * 

When Jim woke up the next morning, Bones had an instant hangover cure waiting, a hearty breakfast with lots of apples and peaches and bananas to satisfy Jim’s constant want for fresh fruit, and keys to a rental car waiting by the door. 

“Figured we could stand to take a day or two off,” He explained to a Jim who stared groggily at tray of food lying in his lap. His head rested against the back of his bed, still asleep enough that holding his head up was too much effort. “Get out of here and do something other than hang around Starfleet, you know.” 

“We just went to Disneyworld-“ 

“That doesn’t count, that was a break after a shitty marriage ended. This is a break from work and school. Two completely different breaks.” 

“Oh.” 

“Eat and get ready, you can sleep more in the car.” 

(Jim’s thrilled reaction to seeing the hippos at a quietly populated zoo three towns away made the plans decided and put in place at 0300 until 0600 worth it. 

Bones bought him a stuffed hippo that Jim kept next to his pillow when they got back home later. Jim bought them matching tee shirts that ended up being three sizes too big for both of them and were better used as pajamas

One of the best pictures of them is Bones sitting, eating an ice cream cone and Jim standing behind him and wrapping his arms around Bones neck with the giraffes peeking out in the background. Jim joked that they had seen their hideous shirts and came up to mock them. 

The rest of their trip was spent at a hotel room watching cheap pay-per-view holovids that they criticized and mocked between bouts of room service.

Bones told Jim later, after The Avengers 6 ended at 0400, that “I had more fun this weekend than I did on any day of my honeymoon with Jocelyn.”

Jim responded with, “Well, Jocelyn’s a skeezy bitch that sucks fun out of everything, and I was born for fun, and that’s that.” 

Bones said, “Yeah, that’s it,” Without a trace a sarcasm. 

He emphasized that the weekend was a success because of Jim, apologized again for not realizing how long he had ignored him, and made Jim promise to tell him when he needed time with Bones, or needed someone to talk to, or when he wanted time with Bones or when he wanted someone to talk to or when he wanted to hang out for fun or when he wanted anything because, “We’re friends, Jim, and friends talk about these things because friends are for shit like that, alright?”) 

[Later that week, Jim woke up and said at the breakfast table, “I really want apple pie. Maybe we can stop by the diner with the good pie for dinner, yeah?” 

Bones never knew that Jim cried when he came home from xenolinguistics club to a kitchen that smelled like smoke and an apple pie with a charred crust, rubbery filling, and a note on top saying, “Can’t go to dinner tonight, sorry.” 

The entire pie was gone when Bones came home, and Jim was on the couch asleep with piecrust crumbs on his chest and somehow in his hair.]


	3. Jim vs. Bones: The First Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first fight is always the roughest. Bones inches further past Jim's defenses. Jim shuts down. Bones inches further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick chapter, a little shorter than the past ones, and I'm sorry for the lazy editing but I only have two weeks of summer left and I know that once school starts I'll be updating slower. (The joys of being an overachiever, peeps.) I'll probably go back over everything during the next break and touch up everything, but for now I just want to crunch as much out as I can since I'm in a writing mood and this only happens every once in awhile.
> 
> Again, thanks to all the people that gave comments, kudos, and bookmarks, and thanks to everyone reading! I hope you enjoy the new chapter despite the lazy editing. Feel free to point out any mistakes if I missed anything. (I already noticed one in chapter 2 that I fixed. Did anyone else catch it? If not, that's awesome and I'm glad I was able to fix it before I embarrassed myself.) 
> 
> Thanks everyone! Enjoy. Next chapter will probably be the start of actual discussing of Tarsus IV instead of me just alluding to it like a prick, so get ready for that~

By the beginning of their second year, on campus Bones was known as a tough but talented doctor. He had multiple colleagues that praised him for his hard work and intelligence, and the nurses appreciated how politely he treated them. Cadets knew they could ask him about most sciences and he would help them or direct them to someone who could do a better job. 

People wouldn’t call Bones popular, but most people knew of him and knew how level headed he was. He was a trusted doctor that remained enigmatic enough to command cadets' respect when they need patching up.

The campus’s opinion on Jim was a bit more controversial. 

“Kirk’s a wreck,” A fourth year in Bones’ combat training scoffed. “Always dropping crap, always hitting on the wrong girl, always speaking up when he should keep his mouth shut… He won’t make it past his first mission when he gets out of here, let alone the captaincy he wants. His dad might've been a hero, but he won't make it. Too many issues there." 

“Kirk’s smart, but that’s to be expected. His mother’s Winona Kirk, you know, and she’s the ‘fleet’s best engineer,” A patient gossiped with the nurse attending to her chemical burns from a laboratory mishap as Bones signed off on her report. “She revolutionized how we design ships after the Kelvin disaster. If I had Lieutenant Commander Kirk as a mom, I’d be top of my class too.” 

“Kirk’s an arrogant ass. Has to show off for the chicks he’ll never be able to lay,” A stocky third year, someone Bones vaguely remembered from his first shuttle to San Francisco, stormed across the mess hall, grumbling to the group of friends surrounding him. “First time I met him he was hitting on a communications girl before he enlisted. She was way too far out of his league. And then he wouldn’t leave her alone when she said no. Sketchy sort of guy, if you ask me.” 

(He knew he couldn’t respond without making Jim’s life more difficult, but when he heard anyone speak negatively about Jim, he wanted to show them how Jim is the kid who spent an hour showing Bones how to use blades of grass to whistle the week before when they sat under a tall tree in the park.) 

He had one class with Jim that semester. Everyone had to take basic flight training, and Jim had promised months before that he would take it with Bones when he was ready. 

(Bones signed up for it before he could let any doubts cloud the haze of drunkenness he had needed to finish fixing his schedule. Jim itched to take the advanced piloting class, but he couldn’t join until the required basics were finished. Jim beamed when Bones showed him his schedule for their first semester and swore that his aerophobia would be a thing of the past by the time they were done with the class. Bones focused on not passing out from the massive hangover thudding at his temples.) 

On the first day, Bones almost threw up. 

(“You looked like a Vulcan bride at the alter,” Jim laughed, months later.) 

When the professor talked about the dangers of starships and shuttles and Bones stopped breathing, Jim whispered about the good points of shuttles and how patients could be brought to better facilities in the galaxy by way of shuttle because the inertial stabilizers kept the shuttles’ flights smoothly seamless. 

He sent Bones statistics and probabilities (and fake probabilities about how Jim would never let a starship fall out of the sky when Bones would be on board because Jim could fix this and this and this and that part of the engine before they’d lose any altitude. Bones would’ve been touched if he hadn’t felt so queasy) seconds before the instructor put on a holovid of some of the worst crashes to scare the cockiness out of the more confident cadets. 

“Oh hey, look,” Jim whispered suddenly, pointing at the screen. “I think there was a clip of the Kelvin. Think I can sue them for emotional trauma? We could make a huge issue of this Bones. How much do you think I could get? Two million? I think two million's doable if I cry on the stand.” 

(Bones had to bite his hand to keep from shrieking with laughter. Of all the things that could upset Jim, the USS Kelvin’s demise would be the one at the bottom of the list to prove everyone wrong. 

It shouldn’t have surprised Bones that the trauma that kept Jim awake at night was worse than the Kelvin disaster, but it did. Regardless, Bones needed that hysterical laugh to keep him from sprinting out of the room and going home to sleep the rest of the week away because blank indifference would be better than this torture.) 

Jim took Bones to his favorite pub for dinner and drinks afterward. 

“Hey, the first step’s the hardest,” Jim slapped Bones’ back, grinning. He poured him another tall glass of beer from the pitcher they had for themselves. “And you made it! That’s awesome, Bones. You’re going to be a pro in no time at all, I can feel it.” 

(Bones’ gut roiled at the thought and more, but he forced a smile and chugged his drink quicker.) 

A few people approached the table, some to question them about classes, others to just be friendly, others to be “friendly”, and others to be very, very friendly. Jim answered questions, stayed polite, but ultimately kept his attention on Bones. 

(He forcefully quelled the part of him that scolded him for noticing their codependence and doing nothing to stop it from developing more than it already had.) 

They stumbled home late, drunker than intended. The door shut closed behind them and Jim seemed wary now that they were alone and out of the eyes of strangers. It made Bones uneasy.

(Bones wanted to say, “It’s just me, Jimmy, you know me.” He wanted to say, “Let’s watch a movie Jim, heard that the Notebook 3 is playing. Let’s record us making fun of it drunk and put it on ancient youtube so hipsters and old men can watch it.” He wanted to say anything to diffuse the odd tension that weighed on them, anything but what he ended up saying.) 

“Why aren’t you afraid to go into space?” 

Jim swayed. “What do you mean?” He propped himself against the back of the couch. 

“I mean that I’m about to piss myself thinking about going up into the black, and you’re itching to get up there and spend years there. You were basically born on an exploding ship. Doesn’t that make you nervous?” 

He shrugged. “Nah. Not really. I mean, I don’t remember it, and I didn’t know my dad or anyone hurt by it really, so why should it bother me anymore than it bothers anyone else? The Kelvin died because it was attacked, not because of faulty systems or anything, so being on a ship isn’t any more dangerous than being on a starbase around enemy lines.” 

Bones ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it while shaking his head. “Alright, alright, that explains why you aren’t nervous, but not why you want to be up there so bad. Why?” 

He paused. “I’m only saying this because we’re both drunk, so don’t you dare bring it up ever again, okay?” He cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck around. “I look like my dad, but personality-wise, I’m much more like my mom, yeah? And she left me to get up there as often as she could be shipped out. I mean, I saw her once every five years, maybe a couple extra visits if there was an emergency, but she liked being out there so much…There has to be something great about being up in the black if she spent that much time up there. 

“So I’ll probably die in the black, but if it’s that preferable to being on Earth? Yeah, I’ll take that. Better than seeing the same sky every night and slowly rotting down here." 

(Bones should have gone to sleep after that. He should have accepted that, filed it away to analyze later. Any other day, he would have, but being drunk didn’t comply with his usual “would haves".) 

“How can you think that’s okay?” He spoke louder than he originally intended after a longer pause than he thought there would be and spooked a Jim that expected his comment to be ignored. “How can you possibly pull that from your mother abandoning you as a kid?” 

He stiffened. “She didn’t abandon me-“ 

“Bullshit, bullshit, don’t start that with me! You saw her once every five years? That’s not okay, Jim! Who the hell did you stay with while she was gone?” 

“It wasn’t a big deal-“ 

“Bullshit!” Jim jumped back when Bones slammed a fist against the door. “Stop acting like that kind of shit was okay! How come you aren’t mad? How come you don’t hate her?” 

“Because it isn’t like she left me in a box on the side of the road-!” 

“That doesn’t make it okay!” 

Bones froze when Jim scrambled farther away from him. 

Their dorm’s living area couldn’t be more than ten feet wide and twenty feet long. There wasn’t much room for Jim to back up, and Bones saw his eyes jumping from door to door, looking for exits. 

Drunk, yes, but not stupid, Bones backed up too, giving Jim more room.

“I just…” Bones struggled, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. “Jimmy, you’re… It scares me when you brush things off like that, because if you can brush off not having any guardians around like it’s nothing, then what have you gone through that is so much worse in comparison to make that seem like nothing? And how much will you continue to brush off when you should fight back and be angry? 

“This should make you angry and upset and betrayed and you’re standing there looking at the fucking positives of your mother’s desertion! And I hate that you can do that, I hate that for whatever reason up there in that genius noggin of yours that you can ignore why she left and justify it at the same time to yourself, because you have every right to feel upset and to scream and shout about it because that’s not okay Jimmy, it’s not-“ 

Jim slammed the bedroom door shut behind him. Bones shut his eyes and leaned back against the front door, his head thudding against it and echoing the already throbbing rhythm behind his eyes.

(Jim’s pale face, with his trembling lips and his eyes squinted shut painfully tight seconds before the door shut, followed him into his nightmares that night.) 

When he woke up, hung over and without Jim at breakfast for the first time since their friendship began, Bones called in sick the next day and stayed in bed. 

(He reprimanded himself all day. If he had forced himself to get up, he would have broken the mirror in the bathroom and stabbed himself in the face with the shards as punishment for how stupid, stupid, stupid he was.) 

Going to work for the rest of the week kept his mind off of the fact that Jim hadn’t spoken to him since that night. 

(With anyone else, he would have claimed he had done nothing wrong by telling the truth until Hell froze over and pigs flew first class. With Jim, Bones wanted to grovel until they were good and friends again because Jim’s avoidance made him want to never wake up again and who cared about being right when being right had hurt Jim so bad?) 

He slipped notes into Jim’s bag, sent him emails, called him, approached him, and even tried leaving the empty orange juice carton in the fridge to irritate him into speaking again. Every message said, “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my business, I should’ve shut up, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” in one way or another. 

For an entire week, Bones anxiously waited and waited for Jim to deem him worthy to listen to again. 

(He cringed every time he heard someone talk about Kirk at a party looking dumb, every time he heard someone mock him for how drunk he was, every time he heard someone gossip about how good or bad he was in bed and wonder ‘did he really sleep with four girls in one night what a manwhore’-)

Exactly one week later, after Bones had to leave his piloting class because he didn’t have Jim by his side and the world was tilting dangerously when he stood up to run out, he decided to stay up until Jim came in for the night. 

Jim came home completely wasted that night around 0200. 

(Bones could smell cigarettes, booze, bodily fluids, and traces of probably-illegal-substances. He couldn’t tell if said substances were from Jim or from the company he was keeping, but it put him on red alert the second he saw his wide-eyed friend.) 

His hair was standing straight up, he had hickeys lining his neck, a nasty gash on the curve of his forehead, dilated pupils, and sweaty palms, and he snarled when he stormed into the bedroom. A finger dripping with sweat pointed at Bones accusingly. 

“Fuck you Bones, you know that? Fuck, I felt horrible because you had to leave that fucking class and I hate you for making me feel bad about that, fuck, I hate you sometimes!" 

Bones stayed in his seat and waited. Jim began to pace, thrown by Bones' impassivity. 

"Do you really think that I’m not mad every single fucking day that my mom wasn’t there for me?” He said suddenly. Seamlessly, he picked up from where they left off, as if they had never stopped talking that night other than to take a breath. “You think that I don’t hate her for leaving me with a bastard named Frank that wasn’t even an uncle or a stepdad or anything, he was just some bastard she found that needed money and passed a cheap ass background check? He didn’t give a fuck and didn’t do anything other than make sure there was food in the house, and sometimes he screwed that up! 

“You really think I don’t hate her for making Sam leave and for never being there for me or calling me on my birthday or even letting me know what a birthday is or for never teaching me what a holiday really is or for anything else she neglected to do? I was five when she basically left permanently and I didn't know how to ask questions or ask for help or anything else kids do and Sam hated me because when I arrived at home his dad was gone and soon his mom left and how could he care about the kid that took away his parents? We didn’t even speak but at least we dealt with Frank together until he left and that’s her fault too! 

“I have no idea how to be around people because I only have holovids and books to go off of, and that’s not a lot Bones, it’s basically nothing!” His face flushed deeper with every word, and his eyes, bright with frustrated tears, shut closed. “And that’s her fault! I should have had someone to show me how to be someone but I had no one and that’s her fault, that’s her fault for leaving me alone, that’s her fault! And it’s her fault I had to leave Iowa after Frank died and it’s her fault I had to go off planet in the first place and that’s on her, that’s all on her and she won’t fucking take responsibility for any of it! All of the bullshit I’ve had to deal with is on her and she blames me but it wasn’t my fault! 

“Of course she pisses me off and I hate her so fucking much but I have no idea how much to say to people about her and I have no idea what to do about being mad and I don’t know what to do about hating her! Because I’ve never had to deal with any of it so why the fuck should I start now?

“Everything says, ‘Oh go out and drink and fuck and fight when you’re mad and can't do anything about it because something will happen that’ll change everything if you’re at the right bar and the right people are there’ and you know what? I did that for a week and have felt even shittier every night for it! No one has magically appeared to give me a solution, no one makes me feel better and I’m still as lost as I was a week ago! Who the fuck decided to show guys doing this in every single movie ever?” 

Bones waited until Jim started breathing normally and his hiccuping sobs had stopped. 

“How much did you drink tonight, Jimbo?” He kept his tone gentle. 

Jim sniffed and shrugged. “I don’t fucking know.” 

“Did you take anything from anyone else?” 

“A girl got me a couple of drinks.” 

“Jimmy, I don’t want you to be scared, but I think she might have slipped you something. Is it okay if I take you to the clinic?” 

“Why do I have to go?” 

“Because I know you, Jim, and I know that you wouldn’t say any of that if you were just drunk. And knowing you, you’re going to be in for a rough trip when we find out you’re allergic to it.” 

Jim tucked his hands under his armpits and nodded. “Okay Bones.” He wobbled forward and leaned his head against Bones’ shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Jimmy. I’m going to call us a cab, alright?” 

“You’re my best friend and I love you so fucking much.” 

“Me too, kid. You know that.” 

“I’m sorry I’m so fucking needy.” 

“Remind me to tell you how not-needy you are when you’re sober.” 

(Bones kept an arm around Jim’s shoulders even after they got to the hospital. He was right; Jim was allergic to the mood-altering drug, but not severely. They gave him cream to rub on the rash and told Bones to keep him supervised because giving him any other drugs would just screw with the strange one in his system and it’d be best to ride the mostly harmless trip out. Bones knew all of this before he even got Jim into the cab, but he also knew that unless Jim put him down as his primary physician, he couldn’t make an official diagnosis. 

A week later, he found out that the drug was a variation of ecstasy that increased sensitivity to emotions. The girl had probably given it to him in hopes that his lust for her would be the dominant emotion and would thus be affected the most. It was luck that Jim had been brooding about Bones the entire week and not even a pretty face could pull him out of his funk.)

Bones’ colleague Orzo offered to cover his shifts for the following two days so he could watch Jim. Bones would have to work extra over Thanksgiving break, but Jim said Thanksgiving dinner made him queasy and they wouldn’t be celebrating it. 

At home getting Jim, still high as a kite, into the shower took longer than he had hoped when Jim insisted on draping himself over Bones’ entire body. He eventually suffered through sitting on the edge of the tub and letting Jim keep a hand on him while he shampooed. 

(It was awkward having his shoulders caressed by soapy wet hands, yes, but Jim’s gratitude kept him from regretting it.) 

He let Bones go when he had to get changed, so Bones grabbed blankets, pillows, and some junk food to munch on before setting up a makeshift bed in front of the TV. 

Jim plopped down on Bones’ lap, happily eating ice cream out of the carton and staining Bones’ pillow with chocolate. Bones flipped on a movie to distract him while he rubbed the medical cream onto the rust-colored patches covering his neck and shoulders.

“Is your stomach itchy? Pull your shirt up, I think the rash has spread there-“ 

“I’m not done with my ice cream yet-“ 

“You don’t have to be, just let me see your belly-“ 

Jim snorted loudly, snickering. “You actually just said belly!” 

“Would you rather I use the Latin-medical term?” 

“No, but belly’s funny.” 

“Your face is funny.” 

“Your face is funny.” 

(They wrestled for a bit until Bones pinned a giggling Jim to the ground and slathered a layer of ointment onto his shaking belly. Bones would never admit that he was giggling too. It was thrilling knowing that being with Bones changed the drug's effects so drastically, because Bones hadn't even apologized for being pushy and Jim was already moving in close and breathing Bones' air and being happy to be in his presence and Bones knew then that if he could spend the rest of his life by Jim's side he'd die a happy, joyful man.) 

Jim slept with his head tucked underneath Bones' chin. It spoke volumes about Bones when he woke up to Jim's drool and a thin streak of bile on his shirt and he snickered before helping him to the bathroom. 

The entire day had Jim vomiting up every ounce of alcohol he had put into his system in the past week and Bones rubbing his back on the bathroom floor with him, handing him cups of ginger ale between bouts, and keeping him well-fed with saltines and rice. 

(Jim stayed clingy after that, and Bones wondered if it was an after effect of the drug until it lasted for almost two weeks. He hadn’t realized how much Jim stayed at a distance until he started closing gaps more often and sitting closer on the couch. 

Normal friends weren’t that touchy, but Bones seemed to be growing distaste for normal after he failed the normal lifestyle of having a normal marriage and a normal family. 

If Jim sometimes "slyly" coerced Bones into falling asleep on the couch and "accidentally fell asleep" on Bones' shoulder, then that was just Bones' abnormal lifestyle and his abnormal family.)


	4. The Metaphorical Gears Click Into Place Courtesy of Captain Christopher Pike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim pulls his first real dangerous stunt for Bones. Pike makes an appearance with an apple Bones can't resist. Eden couldn't last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter, but it took me a long time to write and I edited it a lot more than I usually do because I really don't want to screw this one up. It's an important basis and if I screw this up the rest of the fic is screwed. Please please please don't be afraid to tell me if I missed an inconsistency, I had a lot of issues with contradicting my version of events and that was most of the reason it took me forever to get this up. Let's take a minute to thank Netflix and the Internet, because I watched Conscience of the King about forty times to make sure I hadn't missed canon completely. (Again, I still might have, so PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU CATCH SOMETHING. I have the horrible feeling I forgot something very important.) 
> 
> Thank you for all of the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and hopefully kind thoughts! You all rock my world and encourage me to be better. Thanks for sticking with me this far, and I hope this chapter will meet and/or surpass all expectations and hopes you guys have for this. 
> 
> To all the people back in school: I hope the upcoming year goes well for all of you, I know mine's off to a pretty alright start so that's a good sign, right? If yours hasn't, I hope it gets tons better. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Thanksgiving break was about to begin when they had their first class in a shuttle instead of a classroom. 

Bones rationally knew that the scenario made sense. Going in the shuttle to watch two trained professionals navigate their way through an ordinary trip would let students see the things they learned in the classroom in action. It was the same as when he went through medical school and they watched surgeries and other procedures by MDs before they learned to do it themselves.

(It made sense. It was safe. Jim would be there and he had so much life that nothing could happen to him so by default Bones would be okay. It made sense. It was safe. His phobia was unfounded and stupid and he still didn’t want to get on the damned shuttle-) 

Jim had to link arms with Bones to get him onto the craft. 

(His legs felt like jelly, jiggling this way and that because he couldn’t really be on this deathtrap without the haze of liquor to keep him from realizing where he was he had to get off he had to leave before they took off-) 

Jim muttered nonsense into Bones’ ear as they lifted off. 

(Hardly mattered what he was saying because Bones wasn’t going to hear it through the roar of his blood leaving his head.) 

The substitute professor was droning about something monotonously, pointing out procedures and protocol as they went higher. 

(Bones paraphrases the speech to: Follow everything he says or everyone will die in flames.) 

He flinched when Jim started poking his side insistently. “Bones- McCoy, Bones, Leonard, Jesus Christ give me some indication you’re hearing me, you’re doing fine, come on-“ 

“Fucking quit it Jim-!” He hissed, desperately shutting his eyes. 

“Look, the professor is coming over, he’s going to ask you about- Well, it doesn’t matter, the answer is ‘the external inertial dampeners’, okay? Say it with me so he won’t give you any shit. ‘The external inertial dampeners.’ Come on Bones, you need to say it when he gets over here. I’ll even count down for you-“ 

“Cadet McCoy-“ 

Bones stared blankly at the substitute professor until he stopped talking, at which point, with Jim’s elbow pressing insistently at his side, he managed to gasp out, “External inertial dampener.” 

“See professor, he’s got his head on straight. Just a bit nervous,” Jim spoke up quickly. He interlocked their arms again and gripped Bones’ forearm harshly. “He’s not a big plan of shuttles. Grew up in a small town, you know, so never saw them that often, didn’t attune to them like us city kids do, am I right?” 

“I would not presume to know, cadet,” He drawled in response. “What I would like to know is why someone with aerophobia decided to enlist in Starfleet. It is rather illogical.” 

(Bones wanted this prick to leave so he could go back to hyperventilating.) 

“That’s oddly personal coming from a professor, isn’t it?” Jim shot back. “He’ll be fine as soon as he gets his space legs, sir. Regardless of his misgivings, he wants to do right by Starfleet and he will. Everyone’s first flight is difficult.” 

(He wondered why Jim was willing to lie for him. Just for a moment, he wondered how much Jim was willing to do for him. Then he went back to panicking and trying not to throw up.) 

By the time Bones came back to reality, Jim and he were alone in their seats again, undisturbed by the other chatting students. 

Jim smiled. “You’re doing great Bones. Really, you are. Don’t give me that look, a little suffering’s good for the soul.” 

“I’d be doing better if I had a drink-“ 

“I’m not having you get kicked out because our overly observant substitute noticed you were drunk for class. Be glad I didn’t throw the damn flask away.” He hesitated briefly. “You think he’s a Vulcan? He has the ears, and he is definitely stiff enough to be one. Mom had to visit Vulcan once and came back complaining about them, said they were as exciting as a monastery.” 

Jim blathered on and on and on, and Bones still wanted to slit his own wrists, but he was breathing and the black dots across his vision faded out. 

When the shuttle shook, he yelped. Jim had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep it from escalating to a scream. 

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this the last shuttle I was on didn’t go this high I can’t do this Jim-!” 

Jim didn’t respond. 

His panic skidded to a stop so fast he could almost smell burnt rubber.

“Jim?” 

The (stupid, stupid, idiotic going-to-get-himself-killed) kid opened his mouth and closed it multiple times, eyes wide. 

“Jim-!” 

“I can’t breathe-“ 

Bones was digging through his duffel bag before the words were choked out. His to-go med kit was flung to the side as he unbuckled Jim’s seatbelt and shoved him to the ground, forcing him to lie down. 

“Shit, shit- what did you eat, Jim?” 

Jim clawed at his throat, gasping. 

(He looked like a fish dropped onto pavement straight from the sea, his mouth opening and closing without getting any of the oxygen he needed.) 

“I need some help! Someone needs to call EMS and get us on the ground now, and I need someone to help me hold him-” He barked, preparing multiple hyposprays before digging through his jacket pockets. “Fuck, where’d his epiPen go- I said I need help! Someone, anyone, come on-!” 

The maybe-Vulcan slid to his knees next to Bones, more graceful than the situation demanded, gripping Jim’s wrists and pulling them away from his throat as Bones slammed one hypo into his neck. Jim wheezed. 

“What can I do to assist?” 

“Elevate his legs and keep his airway clear, keep him comfortable- THERE, fuck-“ His hand finally closed on the tube of medication. He ripped the packaging off, ripped the lid off, and slammed it into Jim’s thigh. Jim jerked against the hold, but Professor Substitute kept him from tearing the needle out or letting Bones miss the needed artery. 

For a few seconds, none of the three moved, until Jim gasped loudly. 

“Alright Jim, slow, deep breaths, just like I taught you. Shh, you’re fine. I’m going to give you some hypos- Yes, you infant, I know you don’t like them, suck it up- and that should keep you breathing until we get to a facility. Hey, it’s either that or I cut a hole in your throat and stick a straw in there the old-fashioned way, brat.” 

His hands stayed steady as he injected Jim as gently as he could. Professor Substitute continued to hold Jim when Bones glared in his direction.

He hadn’t noticed Jim’s hand gripping his pant leg, knuckles white. He patted Jim’s hand. 

“You’re fine, Jimbo. Just fine. Deep breaths.” 

Jim spent the night in the clinic with an oxygen mask covering the bottom half of his face, drugged to unconsciousness to ease the process of repairing his throat. Bones sat next to him, repeatedly checking vitals and cringing when Jim shifted and the mask slid around. He painstakingly, for hours, readjusted equipment for the one patient he didn’t have complete medical access to. 

(Bones had thought seeing Jim in the hospital would hurt more. Jim didn’t seem as vulnerable in a biobed because Bones could see his heartbeat going strong and see how many breaths he took per minute and if he really, really was feeling anxious he could figure out how many red blood cells he had every square inch of his veins because medical technology may have been the greatest accomplishment of life.) 

Jim woke slowly. Bones watched his fingers twitch and his head roll from side-to-side before picking up a small cup from the side table. 

“So. Would you like to tell me why you ate a yogurt parfait with strawberries and nuts in it when you are allergic to strawberries, allergic to nuts, and you don’t even like yogurt? Because none of the reasons I was able to think of while your stomach was being pumped and your throat was being healed are very flattering to your intelligence at all.” 

Jim threw him a weary grin. “How was the rest of the flight?” 

(He almost screamed, because of course he wouldn’t deny the evidence found smashed hurriedly into his schoolbag before the the night before, and of course Jim had him completely figured out. 

How could he be afraid of a hunk of metal when Jim was going to get killed by a fucking cup of yogurt smaller than his palm, of all things?) 

He dug his nails into his palms. 

“You will never do that again.” His voice was strained. “Never. God, Jim, what the fuck made you do that? I would have gotten over it or thrown up before the shuttle ended.” 

His hospital gown crinkled as he shrugged. 

“That’s it? I should tear your shoulders off, brat; teach you to appreciate your body more. The fuck’s wrong with you?” 

The biobed’s sensors squealed as its patient shot up, pointing an accusing finger at Bones. “Quit being ungrateful, it worked, didn’t it?” Jim snapped. “If you think that I’m risking going up to the black without you then you’re a fucking idiot. It worked-“ 

“Ah yes, it worked, so who cares that you nearly died?” 

“Nearly only counts in horseshoes and Betazoid frisbee!” 

“What do you think it would look like if I hadn’t found your EpiPen quickly enough? Hm?” Bones leaned in close. “It would’ve looked like a bright young cadet committed suicide by parfait. You really want that to be your legacy? Because that’s not pathetic at all, nope.” 

“I knew it would be fine, you were there!” 

Bones’ breath left in a soft whoosh. 

Hoarse coughs accompanied this violent declaration. 

(He would have had to sit down if Jim hadn’t obviously needed a hypo an hour ago. He reminded himself to break Gordon’s fingers and conveniently “forget” to have a painkiller handy.) 

Bones opted to administer Jim’s medication himself. “Hold still, kid. You’re already going to have a real handsome bruise from the twenty-some hypos I had to give you.” 

Jim stayed silent, either out of his dislike for hypos or embarrassment. 

He pressed his thumbs against Jim’s throat, gently rubbing it apologetically when he winced. “Is it just sore or are there any sharp pains? Any nausea? Dark spots in your vision?” 

“Just sore. None of the other things.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes, Bones.” 

“Positive?” 

“Completely.” 

“Because I’ll confine you to bed rest for a year if you’re lying-“ 

He cut himself off when he saw Jim’s bewildered smile. 

“What’s that for?” 

“Just… That’s why I knew it would be fine. Because you do shit like that, like double and triple check for the easiest things just in case. And you didn’t say, ‘What if I hadn’t had your EpiPen?’ You say, ‘What if I hadn’t found it quick enough?’” Jim laughed, delighted. “I’ve been kicking myself for the past year, but I think I knew you’d be good. Doctors usually are, but this was different, you know? I just… I know now.” 

Bones stared. 

“Thanks Bones.” 

His throat was dry. “For what?” 

He kept laughing. 

(Bones couldn’t quite put his finger on why goose bumps broke out along his skin or why he shivered violently and felt like something monumental had just sped past him like an out of control motorcycle skidding on ice.) 

Jim returned to classes the next day, healed up with only a sore throat to show for the incident. Even the bruise from Bones’ rough handling had ultimately faded before the day was out.

(Despite the speedy and good recovery, Jim seemed unbearably tense. Not physically, but every time he looked at Bones, his face blanked and he seemed to be assessing Bones’ every movement. 

He seemed to be waiting in anticipation for something. Almost like he had set up a prank and was waiting for Bones to open the door and have the bucket’s contents splash over his head.

Except Jim didn't look like he'd be laughing at the result.) 

The cadets in their class, initially freaking out on the shuttle when Jim turned purple, whispered about him faking it because he secretly feared shuttles ever since he learned about the Kelvin disaster. They called him an attention whore and all of the usual nasty names they thought Jim couldn’t hear.

(Bones realized that hearing shit like that started his grumpy persona that now scared the younger students. Started when he heard medical trainees talking about which ones had been one of Jim’s conquests and how he was good for one night, but any more and he started to look needy, and he called each of them out later in the day for any slight, berating them for each little mistake made and not allowing them to leave until they scrubbed bed pans to look new.)

It had seemed natural to snap and scowl at the brats that he hadn’t thought anything of his bizarre behavior until Jim pointed it out, chomping on an apple. 

“You okay? You look like someone spat in your coffee before spilling their own fresh cup on your crotch.” 

“Just tired,” He deflected. “Where you heading? History of something or other, yeah?” 

“Something or other, yeah.” Jim grinned. “Lotsa something or other, man. It’s pretty interesting; we just finished with the Eugenics War and are moving onto more recent shit until the end of the semester. The Federation’s kind of a douchebag when you read between the lines. It’s hard though, because you can tell that the person who wrote the curriculum is a patriotic shit, you know?” 

Bones had a grunt of agreement prepared when Captain Pike jogged up to them. 

(Part of him admired Pike for the soft spot he obviously felt for Jim that had him run across campus to catch the kid. The other part still questioned his intentions and wondered if his thesis on the Kelvin had any bearing on his fondness for Jim.) 

“Cadet Kirk, just the man I was looking for,” He greeted, casually gripping Jim’s shoulder and forcing him to pick up his pace, past the lecture hall Jim was supposed to be in. “Walk with me, son.”

“I have a class in like five minutes, Captain, could this wait-?“ 

“Yes, I’m aware, keep walking. McCoy, you might want to stick around here for a while. Advanced Federation History is going to get graphic today and I can guarantee at least one cadet will pass out or throw up. My money’s on a red shirt fainting.” He winked over his shoulder and hustled Jim away, leaving Bones to scowl deeper than before. 

(He had dodged a bullet the last time Pike blatantly slammed a clue into his lap. He still wondered if the bullet had been made of lead, made to permanently damage, or paint, where it would splatter and look ugly but only sting for a bit.

The second chance proved too tempting. Russian Roulette wasn’t his usual vice, but since he stopped drinking, he needed a new one.) 

He sat through the entire lecture. Pike wasn’t kidding when he said it was intense. 

Tarsus IV was the nastiest thing in Federation history that Bones had been alive to hear about as it happened. He vaguely remembered newsfeeds of the incident, but even as it had happened, the situation made no sense. 

(He remembered his baffled confusion, the news anchors that drew parallels between Tarsus IV and ancient genocides centuries old, the horrified cries of a fellow med student whose aunt, uncle, and cousins had been living there since the colony’s beginning, the night he spent holding Jocelyn, and most poignantly, being selfishly grateful for his family’s xenophobia and the essentially inherited aerophobia they all had.) 

Details were scarce and few people knew anything about what actually happened. Most of the accounts were taken from Starfleet officers after they first stepped in and saw the destruction. 

The official story was that Governor Kodos was a crazy bastard that killed half of the colony when a famine devastated the colony in order to keep his own political faction in power and stable through the tragedy. He died in a fire the day Starfleet arrived. 

However, the Federation covered up most of the worst parts. Some aspects of the massacre could only be accessed in Federation databases. Everything being taught at the academy about the incident would never be found in a public library on Earth or the quadrant surrounding it. 

(The instructor reminded his audience that said information was considered classified and they could be tried for treason if the information was repeated outside of the lecture. He then played the recording of his infamous speech to the condemned, found on a deceased colonist’s bloodstained PADD, multiple times throughout the period. Bones felt ill the longer it went on. Part of him raged at the secrecy and the public’s need to know, while the other part wished he could forget that entire speech because fuck if Kodos didn’t sound courteous and normal and rational and wrong-) 

With half the survivors in mental care hospitals and the other half unknown and unrecorded to everyone except even the highest ranking officials of Starfleet, the public only had vague ideas of what happened before the Federation arrived. 

The aftermath was devastating enough that most people didn’t want to know what happened before. They wanted to moan and groan about how horrible it was, and how Starfleet should have arrived earlier, and how the Federation had better never let something like Tarsus IV happen again or else.

Over the course of the following two hours, Bones learned a more in-depth version of the events.

(More in-depth, maybe, but still heavily censored with plenty of gaps of information. He shuddered, unwillingly imagining what they could possibly still be hiding from them.)

Governor Kodos had barely passed his psych evaluations to be given control of a colony, but the Federation recognized him as an asset and Tarsus IV’s fertile soil was ideal for Kodos’ science team to study nutrition and agriculture, which had been his and the Federation’s main desire. If Kodos could revolutionize agriculture and make less food stretch to accommodate more people’s physical needs, then the Federation could spend more time finding dilithium on new colonies than sending supplies to said colonies. 

Supposedly, Tarsus IV was going to change everything and encourage more exploration in Starfleet.

Already mentally unstable when the planet was first colonized, Kodos cracked under the stress and pressure of handling an entire colony. When food sources were severely depleted due to a dangerous fungus ruining almost everything edible on the colony, including all of the crops, half of the food kept in storage, and most of the wildlife, he employed his PhD knowledge of eugenics better used only in theory and killed half of the colony according to his theories, declaring who was fit and unfit to survive until the supplies would be restocked the next year. 

It was horribly, terribly ironic that the shipment arrived only a month after four thousand colonists were killed. Not because of the colony’s government taking action, but instead due to a scheduling error that switched Aphelion IV and Tarsus IV’s names on an admiral’s PADD. 

No one had ever found out why Kodos didn’t send a transmission when farmers initially discovered the fungi ruining crops, asking the shipment to arrive earlier. Even if the fungi hadn’t spread to the storage units where food was kept, the ruined crops would have been enough of a blow to their economy that Federation aid would be required. 

Communications had been functioning until the massacre occurred. Citizens had sent messages up until the day half had been killed. The sudden silence drew more attention than the merchant-captain that brought the needed (too late) supplies. She had spent a week trying to get Starfleet’s attention when none of his transmissions to Tarsus IV were being accepted. Starfleet vessels arrived a day before her ship did. 

Only a handful of survivors’ names were on record. Some of them had worked for Kodos and no one was sure which ones had been part of the massacring and which had stood idly by as others were massacred and which were supposed to have been massacred but escaped-

(Bones’ stomach roiled throughout the entire lecture as pictures of malnourished children and decaying bodies and mixtures of the two all rolled past in the slideshow because Pike’s hints were making crazy, hopefully incorrect, sense, and Jim’s behavior suddenly was making crazy 

pleasepleasepleaseletthisbewrongletmebeassumingtooearly

sense, and when a blond-haired blue-eyed boy stared solemnly into the camera Bones stopped breathing-) 

Pike should have bet on a blue shirt running out of the class and puking in the begonias.


	5. Confessions of a T-4 Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing about Tarsus IV doesn't make Jim Kirk any easier to understand, really. Nor does it stop Jim from testing Bones once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was SO INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT TO WRITE 
> 
> Like I feel like I won't do any of this with Jim any justice whatsoever if I go into any more detail than I have, but I feel like I might've been extremely vague and rushing it more than a bit. I hope this is alright. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Again, feedback of any kind is always welcome and if you notice any mistakes, please let me know because I'm editing myself and I am not always an A+ grammar girl.
> 
> As usual, once again thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, bookmarked, and commented! You guys rock and I hope that this chapter keeps you interested. I'm considering ending it soon after this, but I also have ideas for if anyone would want me to keep this going until post-Narada and beyond. I can't decide if I want to take it that far, though, so anyone who has an opinion, feel free to share it with me! Your input is appreciated and valued. 
> 
> I repeat: If you have an opinion on if this should have an ending soon or if I should make it full length with this just being an intro to the full fic (maybe I'd make it part 1 in a series, I don't know yet), please let me know! All input is valued greatly. It's like gold and diamonds, man. 
> 
> Thanks everyone, and I hope you enjoy!

Bones wandered back to their dorm after calling in sick for his last shift of the week and spending said skipped shift at the library, looking up Tarsus IV. 

The information was limited. Almost everything was classified, and without hacking skills like Jim, he could never fake the clearance to see any of it. 

(Limited as it was, the information repeated from the lecture continued to make anxiety and heartbreak coil in his stomach.) 

The lecture had been more informative overall, but at the library Bones could look up the known survivors’ names. 

(No Kirks were on either list the academy had remade as accurately as they could. Tarsus IV hadn’t been well documented, nor had any survivors wanted to recall any of their unfortunate neighbors though, so that didn’t mean anything.)

He could look up what vessels had responded to the original distress signal and see if Winona Kirk had been on any of the rescue ships. 

(Surely if what Bones thought happened had actually happened, Winona would have arrived at Tarsus IV as fast as she could bend the laws of physics if she hadn’t been on the colony herself. Any mother would have been there in seconds.

He prayed to the deities he scoffed at that this was at least true, because he could never be sure if Jim’s issues with his mother were justified or caused by his insecurities. Winona Kirk might have been a good or bad mother, he only had Jim’s side of things and kids can be horribly unfair to their guardians.) 

Winona Kirk was not recorded to have traveled to Tarsus IV at any point. 

(On one hand, great, maybe Jim hadn’t- 

On the other hand, he could never ask Jim about this and how else could he know for sure?) 

Jim was home when Bones arrived, curled up on the couch and flicking through channels. He had a tenser posture than the relaxing picture called for. 

“You’ve been gone for awhile,” Jim broke the silence first. “I went to see you at the hospital but you weren’t there. Something come up?” 

Bones sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Jim’s face was mostly hidden, directed towards the screen. Even with his body angled towards him, almost completely facing him, Bones couldn’t make eye contact. 

(Sometimes Jim needed space, sometimes he needed closeness, and Bones was the nearest thing to an expert in figuring out when he needed what.) 

He sighed. “Is that how we’re going to play this? Am I supposed to say, ‘Yeah, something with Jocelyn, don’t worry about it kid’ so we can pretend I’m not lying?” 

The lights from the screen illuminated Jim’s stubborn profile. Jaw clenched, eyes tight around the corners, and blond hair tousled from hands that ran through it constantly. 

“I don’t want to lie to you, Jim. But I will if you want me to.” 

He let his legs sprawl across his half of the couch, almost touching Jim’s calves, but not quite. 

Slowly, Jim uncurled on his end. They both squirmed and readjusted until their legs intertwined and one of Bones’ hands reached across the back of the couch to grip Jim’s wrist. 

(His shoulders relaxed when they were still able to navigate around each other flawlessly. He and Jim could still entwine as if they were born for the sole purpose to fill up the other’s empty spaces. 

Jim’s pulse thudded against his fingertips steadily. Quick, but steady and strong. 

He knew that having this kid sitting across from him, well and alive, was perhaps the only proof of miracles in this godforsaken universe.) 

He swiped a thumb across his pulse once, twice, over and over.

Jim, face colder than Jocelyn’s the day she left him, spoke carefully, but not weakly. “I don’t want you to look at me differently. But Pike seems to think that you needed to see that lecture.” Bones watched goose bumps dot his skin as he shivered. “He says that anything between us is worth shit unless you know about this.” 

“That’s bull,” Bones interjected. “You know that, right?” 

“No,” He snapped. Irritation brought a flush to his cheeks. “No, I don’t, because it was only a matter of time before you had too many questions that I couldn’t answer and it ruined everything.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s really not!” Jim struggled to loosen his limbs from the twisted pile between them. The longer Bones refused to budge, the tighter Bones held his wrist, the more frantic his flailing became. 

“Why? You don’t owe me anything. If I asked something and you didn’t want to answer then you easily could have said, ‘Shut up McCoy or I’ll beat you like that punk in the bar last week-‘”

Pale limbs jerked underneath his own. “How long do you honestly think you could have dealt with me freaking out anytime you throw out leftovers, me buying nonperishables every time we go out even if we have enough to last us a decade, me waking up fucking crying in the middle of the night like a two-year-old and not letting you out of my sight for hours, me-?” 

“For as long as you would have let me!” 

All movement stopped abruptly. Big, unnaturally blue eyes latched onto Bones’ face at last. 

(He forced his grip to loosen before he left a bruise.) 

“You don’t get it, do you? Jim, Jimmy-boy,” He choked. “I have nothing outside of this dormitory,” Bones laughed, letting his head flop back against the armrest. “This is it. I came here with pictures of a baby that was never going to be born and a marriage that was never going to work out and a bottle of Georgia’s finest that was never going to last me the shuttle ride. 

“You, you stupid, dumb ass kid, you’re all I have. And if keeping you anywhere near me means keeping my mouth shut and ignoring the shit you don’t want to deal with? Fuck, if you had put an open manila folder with all of the information in it and said, ‘Don’t look at it, Bones, don’t you dare’ I would have burned it without a second thought.” 

He picked up his head and met Jim’s astonished stare. 

“I was prepared to wash out, you know. I figured I’d screw up being here just like I did everywhere else. Couldn’t keep a hold on my position in Georgia after Jocelyn and I started having problems because I drank myself into a stupor every eight hours. If I didn’t wash out, then my liver would do me in. Either I’d be homeless or I’d be dead before the first year ended.

“And then you show up, dragging me out of bed to get to classes and forcing me to actually give a shit about something again even after I barely gave you the time of day, and I realize it’s been three weeks since I last thought about Jocelyn and the baby. 

“And like I said. If you hadn’t wanted me to know about… This… Whatever it is, I would have stayed out of it. 

“I’m not sorry that I know, though,” He added sharply, noting the wariness he could see forming behind the pretty-boy face. “Obviously, duh, I want to know as much as I can about you. I want to help you if something’s hurting. I want to be able to do that for you. But I’m not going to force you or leave you or anything else if you don’t want to. It’s your call.” 

Jim’s lip wobbled. His legs trembled underneath Bones’, seeming indecisive between staying trapped and flinging themselves off of the couch to escape. 

(In any permutation of responses Bones had imagined, Jim told the story next. Bones would have his curiosity sated and he could start thinking of ways to help Jim cope. Even if it just meant knowing what days to take Jim out to get him drunk enough to forget.) 

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night. 

Jim opened his mouth a couple of times, visibly struggling to say some anything, before snapping his jaw shut and tugging Bones’ hand to his chest to cradle it. 

This happened a few times until he was making grabby hands for Bones to come closer. 

Only reluctant on the surface, he let Jim rearrange him until he was lying with his head resting on Jim’s chest. 

(He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear Jim’s heartbeat until Jim did that.  
Having a face buried in his hair, choking on almost silent sobs, with arms clutching his chest made him feel a little less pathetic, knowing that he was as needed as he was needy. ) 

* * * * * * * 

The next week consisted of a plethora of emotional rollercoasters laden with turmoil to spare. 

“Kodos wasn’t a bad guy at first,” Bones almost chopped his thumb off when Jim wandered into the kitchen and started talking. “I took lessons from him with some other kids. He showed us the ropes of government, taught our science classes, gave us advice… We liked him. He took care of us. When my summer program ended, he paid for me to stay on T-4 until I turned eighteen.” 

He retreated, and Bones was left to stare at the ruined salad. 

It took him another fifteen minutes to pull out a regenerator and heal his mangled finger. 

(He hadn’t put much thought into Jim having a life on Tarsus IV before the massacre.) 

They were walking to the clinic the next time a tidbit was shoved into Bones’ face. 

“My mom still doesn’t know that I was there. Frank signed all of the papers and he was the one that picked me up when I got back. I never told anyone my real name when I was there.” 

And with that, Jim handed him his bagged lunch, slapped his shoulder affectionately, and left. 

(He had so many questions that he couldn’t force himself to ask about that one.) 

Jim called him halfway through an eight-hour shift. Faux casual, he left another crumb. 

“There’s a picture of me in a history textbook. I’m tied up in it.” 

(He knew he shouldn’t have looked for the damn picture. He regretted his curious masochism when he was reacquainted with his breakfast.) 

Bones received a text in the middle of a lecture.

“The family I lived with on T-4 was the first to be killed.” 

Bones noticed a yellow post-it note on the bathroom mirror. 

“I refused to tell Kodos where my friends were hiding. He called me ‘Judas’ after that.” 

Bones woke up to a confession written in sharpie on his forearm. 

“When it was really bad, and they were looking at me and begging, I fed them my rations. When it was really, really bad and they looked hopeless, I killed a dog for them. I told them it was a wild turkey.” 

Bones found a document on his PADD that hadn’t been there the hour before. 

“No one ever says this, but the massacre started on Thanksgiving. Kodos’ men were inventive with how they killed. It didn’t just happen for one day. Most of us hadn’t realized what was happening until it got bad.” 

(Bones didn’t sleep much that week. 

Jim was telling him too much but not enough, too many details and not enough solid facts, and Bones wanted to be supportive and understanding but this slow progression broke his heart the longer it went on. 

He wanted to be strong for Jim, wanted to be able to be his anchor so he could break down, but it was just his luck that he couldn’t even manage that. It hurt knowing that even if Jim had wanted him to say something comforting, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything except cry.

He cringed imagining how the rest of the campus would take to seeing “grumpy stick-in-the-ass” McCoy bawl in the middle of his xenobiology lecture.) 

The last one Bones watched Jim write. 

The day had been exhausting for both of them. Jim, while his schedule had calmed down in intensity, made up for the lack of lecture time with sheer amounts of homework that he had taken the day to catch up on. Bones, running on less sleep every night, had a shift full of whining cadets that would never understand that no, a hangover was not an appropriate reason to travel to the clinic, nor was a cold that could only be solved with rest. 

Dinner was leftover take out that neither remembered getting in the first place. Bones halfheartedly picked at chicken fried rice, while Jim shoveled egg rolls and pizza into his mouth on autopilot. 

Jim fiddled with his communicator for a long time, glancing up at Bones every other click and after every bite, before Bones’ own communicator chimed. 

Jim held his pizza-stained breath when Bones carefully pulled it out of his pocket. 

“I was on Kodos’ List. Some days I think I should have just let them kill me instead of running.” 

(No, no how could he-?)

He choked on a piece of chicken. 

“Oh fuck-“ Jim leaped out of his chair, both communicators clattering against the floor. 

Bones had already sprung up, his own seat slamming against the wall. Instinctively, despite every ounce of medical knowledge he had, his hands went to his throat. 

Arms hitched around him and a fist slammed into his gut, repeatedly. When he could think without the haze of panic over his thoughts, he readjusted Jim's aim. 

(In all of the ways that their awkward “Don’t cross this line of interaction about Tarsus IV” stance could have ended, having Jim perform the Heimlich was not the most probable.) 

The less said about the sickening splat of cheap meat against the dinner table the better. 

"Thank you for aiming for my liver. Really, that is definitely where choking has. Are you sure you aren't hiding an MD somewhere on your person?" He wheezed, shoving Jim's arms off of him. 

Jim, eyes wide and scared, asked, “Do I need to call an ambulance? What’s the protocol for post-choking?” 

“Why the fuck would you need to call an ambulance?" Incredulously, he picked up his communicator and waved it in Jim's face after coughing again. "Yes, let’s call an ambulance right now and tell them I was choking but I’m fine now so we just wanted to let them know-“ 

“Screw you! It’s not like this is a problem I’ve regularly encountered, for most of my life there’s been no food to choke on!” 

(Bones couldn’t begin to guess what his face looked like at that, but it had to have been somewhere between “completely and totally shocked” and “absolutely horrified.”) 

Jim laughed when the communicator cracked on the floor.

He shrieked with laughter, either at the statement or at Bones’ gaping mouth and bug eyes. 

“I can’t- I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve wanted to make a fucking joke about T-4- Like seriously Bones, I got so many that I was this close to running down to Pike’s office to tell some of them to him just so I could tell someone-“ 

He bent over, blond hair falling into his eyes. 

“And Pike wouldn’t give me a reaction like that, he would’ve just frowned and been all disappointed, and everyone else wouldn’t get it, but you- God, your face, that was perfect timing on my part!- I needed to say it to someone that would get it-“

The longer he laughed, the closer Bones crept forward. 

Jim’s shoulders shook when Bones dragged him into his arms. His arms fell down and hung limply by his sides. His head, pushed gently into the crook of the shoulder in front of him, leaned completely against Bones. 

(This was what he had been waiting for. 

The moment where it would actually hit Jim that he didn't need to fight everything alone. 

The moment where Jim would realize he wasn’t alone and if he wanted to tell someone something, even something as revolting as a poorly timed joke, he could, because Bones couldn’t, and maybe more importantly, wouldn’t, leave.) 

And Jim wailed, Bones clutched him close until they both couldn’t breathe, Jim stained Bones’ tee shirt, Bones pressed his face into Jim’s hair and breathed deeply- 

(The fact that odds were against the two of them meeting- that Jim, probability wise, most likely should have died on that rock as a child—

Well, it made Bones unbelievably grateful.) 

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair that they all died! It’s not fair that there are people out there that Kodos chose to live while the rest of them died and it’s not fair Bones, it’s not!” 

“I know Jimmy, I know.” 

“I hate it! I hate that I can’t let this go and I hate Kodos and I hate me and I hate it I hate it I hate it-“ 

“Shhh, shhh, it’s going to be okay, you’re so strong, Jimmy, I’m so proud of you for making it here, shhh…”


	6. Epilogue, Or: The Forgotten Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short epilogue/transition into the next section of the story that will be part 3 and posted at a later date.
> 
> Bones passes his exam, gets wasted, and doesn't have a clue about how manipulative Jim Kirk actually is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, VERY short, but I have figured out where I want to take this in the next part and that will be more in depth. This was just to get the ball rolling for the next part, I'll admit. Sorry for cutting this section off really abruptly. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for all of your support! You're all the reasons why I'm willing to write more and make this longer. I decided to go with a series, so I hope that's alright. Keep an eye out for the next installment, it might be a bit but I have a good feeling about it and I've started it. 
> 
> Thank you again everyone for the views, kudos, bookmarks, and comments! You all rock my socks big time!

Stepping off of the practice transporter pad for the last time was one of the best highs Bones ever achieved. 

Jim, faux-casual with his legs sprawled across the floor and back propped up by the opposite wall, gave him an uneasy grin. He wiggled his thumb at him, up or down-? 

Bones laughed and tossed both of his hands up, thumbs straight to the ceiling. 

“Passed with flying colors, Jimbo! Didn’t feel sick once, didn’t screw up, didn’t forget the damn ‘external inertial dampener whatsits’-!” 

Jim had already scrambled up before he got the sentence out, tackling him and hollering. 

“I knew you had it, what did I tell ya? I promised you you’d fly by the end of your second year, and you fucking nailed it!” 

He beamed up at Bones, pride and perhaps a touch of admiration held in the crinkle of his eyes. 

“Yeah yeah yeah, you’re always right Mr. Genius,” Bones griped, the happiness lighting up his face keeping the tone from sounding too sarcastic. 

The year hadn’t been the easiest for them. 

Jim nearly dropped out a handful of times when Bones pushed too hard for information about his past. He fought Bones every step of the way, from Bones’ suggestions to talk to “someone” (namely a, as Jim put it, “crazy doctor at a crazy hospital that would have no idea how to handle my beyond crazy issues”) to his “not-so-subtle” encouragement to reconcile with his family—

(“Your mother didn’t even know-“ 

“And whose fault is that? Not mine! I shouldn’t have had to tell her! It was her fault I went in the first place-“ 

“She didn’t put you on the shuttle-“ 

“Fuck you! She may as well have!”) 

Sometimes being friends with Jim wasn’t easy. 

(It’d be a humongous lie if he said the work wasn’t worth it.) 

Bones forced Jim into a headlock, scratching his knuckles against his head affectionately. “Wouldn’t have made it without you, you know,” Jim squirmed, either from the noogie or the thick confession. “Pretty sure that you’re the only person that can cure aviophobia by sheer stubbornness.” 

“Guess this means you can come on a ship with me now. My plan worked perfectly.” Jim finally ducked out of his grip, grinning widely. 

(He probably meant it too. He would never put it past Jim to have planned this out step-by-step so Bones would have enough time to change his placement requests so that they would be able to intern together their third year and start working on convincing Pike to take both of them on his ship when they graduate.) 

“Yeah, but your plan’s only worth it if you’re paying for the booze tonight.” 

“Ouch! I just took a noogie from you, doesn’t that at least mean you get the first round?” 

“I just passed a class by flying a shuttle when a year ago I would have shit my pants even sitting in the cockpit of one. Like fuck I’m paying tonight.” 

Later that night, after both of them were drunk enough that walking wasn’t an option and they leaned against the booth and each other, Jim pressed his forehead against Bones’ shoulder. 

Neither of them remembered this the next day, but Jim wrapped arms around Bones’ waist, squeezed him tightly, and murmured, “You’re my favorite person and ‘m so fuckin’ glad that we don’t need to be fuckin’ for you to give a shit about me.” 

Neither of them remembered the next day that Bones responded with, “Love you, brat.” And Jim answered, “Love you too.” 

(“Neither of them remembered” meant that Bones knew that Jim remembered and Jim knew that Bones remembered but neither needed to discuss it because they both knew that they were far beyond labels. 

More than best friends, a little too close for brothers, but not boyfriends. 

He cringed at the idea of using the term “boyfriends” for anything, let alone describing him and Jim. It seemed trivial.) 

Just because they didn't need to discuss it, though, didn't keep Bones from divulging his distaste for labels and his desire to flip them all around. Bones never noticed Jim's sudden excitement. He didn't question the next part of the evening, laughing drunkenly and saying, "Fuck it, why the fuck s'not? You're the best, we're the best, it'll be greeeat!" 

"Neither of them remembered” signing the papers that technically married them so they wouldn’t need to convince Pike to put them on the same ship. 

It seemed like a good idea when they were three seconds from passing out and Jim was blatantly begging, picking up Bones' hand and more or less signing for him while repeating Bones' words from earlier. 

(It'll be so great, Bones, we'll never be separated and we won't have to worry about other people and it doesn't matter because we're already basically always together and you're the best and together we're fucking awesome so it's just insurance, that's all, do you know how many benefits we get from it-?)

Besides, it hardly mattered, Jim said. Marriage had so many different connotations and definitions in their own galaxy alone that out in the black it was unlikely that anyone would care if they were friends or brothers, lovers or strangers. 

(The lingering sense of “once-bitten twice-shy” mentality didn’t make enough of an impression on his intoxicated mind until Jim curled up next to him on the couch and they both passed out.

As he fell into unconsciousness, he reminded himself that Jim wasn’t like Jocelyn. His fears were unfounded. Jim wouldn’t suddenly change and become a complete stranger just because a paper bound them together forever and ever and ever-)

The next day, Bones puked all morning until Jim found the hidden hangover cures. Nothing was different after breakfast and they went to class as usual.

(Jim never would have brought the paperwork up on the PADD if he knew that Bones really wouldn't remember marrying him the next day. He had assumed it was another unspoken agreement between them.)


End file.
